Tasting Red Air
by dandelion-heart
Summary: Name: Shiori Misaka; Time of Death: December 12th, 2:43 A.M.; Cause: Unknown


**Tasting Red Air**

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**A/N**: When Shiori refers to herself as "she," she is talking about herself as a dead girl with a living past; "you" is her future dying away; "I" is the present. This was just a random experimental piece I thought of writing down one day.

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She had never seen this room before; it was whiter and cleaner than those other areas where she could only see red wallpaper (redness of her eyes?) and blue tiles (the bleaching of her irises?) but the blankets over her were rough against her skin and she felt so hot, burning steadily in the sea of white. She was suffocating but the windows were open- she could feel the wind on her trembling and bare arms, or was that breathing? Her own breathing? - so hard and ragged that her lungs were stretching into her throat and over her lips and- oh it was just bile, yellow against the white. Didn't it know there was no place to go?- with the cleanliness of the walls that were sucking from fat lips the red air, she could taste the bile even as it moved from the blankets into the place beyond the window and parks and fountains-

Oh that's right. I'm right there.

She was wondering how often she had dreamed but the blade was near her skin and she knew this was no dream but an illusion. Oh I'm living it through. Like the bile, I'm into those walls and I can feel vibrations and the lies of this hospital where she lay.

Oh I'm screaming, screaming while she's dreaming dreaming away away of himnowhereisIthere! Ahah found you!

She's moving slowly and slower as they prick her fingers and their needles are like swords in the manga she once read with a carton of ice cream lying next to his hand which I held, you know I held, held it? It?

Him?

Oh yes him, you see I fell in love, and I ate ice cream too. And he led her by the hand to places her eyes were blind to and she could feel snow for the first time and when she threw up anyways after hiding away in the bathroom I still remember it. You don't know it but you were there and you just watched everything from the eyes of green, like spring.

You?

And I?

We saw ourselves in that frozen reflection of hell before she even came here and started dying and choking on her own words because of that pain from the gushing of red before I even took it to my wrist. You were on the bed and crying as the moon sunk into his eyes and you pressed your lips to the corner of his but I tasted him and she just ran away.

Future tense in the highest octave and she's screaming again. You are too. I am-

With it. Not hand. Just him.

She's not shaking anymore in this room that swallows and speaks with tones of monsters but they're just shadows now, no longer harming me or you.

She kissed him. But she ran away.

I told her not to but she always had to leave him, walking slowly but still ahead and it was before his time to follow her so she just made him cry.

He didn't spill any tears over the note because his heart had yet to break; she still left him with some hope.

She wasn't smiling and he didn't, doesn't, will not know that because she left. The window is still open though but the curtains are melting and he needs to close them before their needles fly out too.

You were clutching at the knife and then at the moon before he rose to meet it. You wanted his wings but even his eyes couldn't tear away from you, you horrible twisted veil of smoke writhing on the bedside.

You're gone now, even she is there, with him, lips seeking his but her eyes were closed and so she missed.

She never needed you, but you were still there and so I laugh.

Maybe you were the real thing; whatever it is, you need to guide her still.

The window closed moments ago and she left- so leave already, their minds don't need you.

I kissed him. And I threw down the knife. Her face was in my hands but I remembered him.

I remember how I drew him and played games with him, I took his hand and THEN I FLEW AND IT WAS BEYOND YOUR OCTAVES AND HER SHRILL CRIES.

now i'm here but u arent- funny yes?

I have a secret.

They're dead but I'm not.

I am with him and I want to always be with him.

I am waiting by the fountain. He doesn't have a guardian angel. (oh that one?) She's not even dead.

So I can wait. And I will.

I don't mind. I loved/love/loves him.

He does, too (because I should have taken medicine after the party otherwise I would crumble on the inside and it was so hard not to spit blood on the note with my farewell and I kept tripping on the snow)

… right?


End file.
